The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by D'ney.
All references to the world and characters of Pern™ based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright© 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern® is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with permission.

Weyrling Barracks

When not in use, the barracks has an almost barren look to it. Plain in decor
and fairly spacious, the area often seems almost crowded when there are
Weyrlings despite the capaciousness the barracks offers. Dragon couches, set
a uniform length apart, are orbited by cots and presses for the non-winged
half of the pairs. The pool that has been set aside for the sole use of the
Weyrlings is to the south and the Weyrlings' Grounds is northwest.

You see Igen Weyrling Chart and Thanks SearchCo! here.
The following dragons are here: Caedmith, Nhaeth, Circeoth, and Jaath
From here you can go:
Pool    WeyrlingMaster's Office    Weyrling Grounds

Leigha is standing at the front of the room as the weyrlings begin to
assemble, standing beside a table covered in a huge roll of burlap sacking, a
ball of heavy-duty twine, and an oddly shaped leather pouch. She leans
against the table as the dragonets and partners arrive, watching as they line
up for inspection immediately.

S'olan has obviously freshly oiled Laenaoth; the big bronze's hide is glossy
and gleaming (and, besides, S'olan's fingers are smeared with traces of oil).
Laenaoth looks pleased almost to the point of smugness as he follows his
weyrling out, head and tail lifted curiously. S'olan wipes his hands off on
a bit of cloth and stashes that at the edge of Laenaoth's couch before
joining the others.

Halis is idily hanging upside down basically. Her feet rest up on the
snoozing Olexath, boots thrown somewhere on the couch. Yes she realizes that
there's a lesson soon. Wait, lesson?! 'ling hops up, not wanting to be on
anyone's 'list' again. Boots are quickly pulled on and big lug of a blue is
woken up, with a little effort of course. Halis peeks about to see if
anything's started yet. No? Good she won't be late this time. Oh look,
it's the grumpy one. Halis and Olexath make their way towards their spot,
nearly perfect looking, unless you count the one boot that Halis is still
trying to pull on.

Echo takes her own time getting in formation. She comes to attention in her
own languid fashion. She still does not salute. Kezasuth stands next to her,
dwarfing the weyrling by now, looking a bit worn around the edges, but
completely content. She'll need a bath soon, but not as much as Echo and her
mucking-the-barracks perfume.

D'ney sloshes into view, joining the line of weyrlings as Nhaeth does the
same; she has a queer expression on at present, and her boots emit the
occasional squelch on every twitch of movement. Her lifemate at the back
fairly exudes innocence, though, and the anxiously raised tail.

D'ney
Short, slightly gaunt around the edges, this adolescent bears Igen's glare in
the burnt brownness of her skin. Uncertain growth has worked away the
childish plumpness from the avid angles of nose and chin, further accenting
pinched features with their harsh planes and abrupt peaks. Below forehead's
darkness, a primal acidity informs her hazel eyes, restrained by stubborn
mahogany curls -- but flaring inevitably into the compact rebellion of a
muscled shape and habitually agile motion.
A golden-yellow linen tunic drapes from her shoulders, straggling under a
thick jet belt at the waist and falling nearly to her hips. The trousers of
black linen are similarly buckled in to keep the outfit snug against the
hazards of adolescent frolic, its hems disppearing into a pair of
extra-polished wherhide boots.
Double cords of maize and jet intertwine in a single, simple loop, wrapped
with a brown sisal ribbon, to denote her rank as an Igen Weyr Junior
Weyrling, rider of Nhaeth.
She is awake and looks alert.
Steady as a rock, and as apt to peel.

Inky dollops of dusty rose salmon coalesce the creases of his vast expanse of
seasoned black cherry hide, cluttering into gangly extremities seeped in
sepia before vanishing beneath a facade of dusky darkness. Sleek sheets of
lengthy mocha-washed wings drizzled with an ethereal edge of frosty pink
coral veins engulf him, cluttering the smooth, rounded ridges that bud from
his elongated neck and rosewood headknobs, leaving only a whim of the large,
expressive eyes that light his nervous triangular head. Hints of deep well
metallicy limn his soot-smudged physique, creating golden glimpses that
overshadow the disproportions and discrepancies and glitter the lengthy
starscape frame from rich hazelnut tail to clever ebon talons with heroic
motes of succulent, suffering incandescence.
Nhaeth is 6 Months and 11 Days old.

Leigha clears her throat, a faintly smug expression crossing her face briefly
as she notes the generally smooth assemblage and coming to attention. A
brief glance at Halis' untied boot and Echo's lack of salute, and her eyes
narrow slightly. She does not waste time to single them out, however, moving
into the lesson quickly. "All right then, let's have Halis hand out the
burlap," she announces, voice cutting through the milling about noises and
commanding quiet, "And Echo, please hand out the twine." There are scissors
conveniently placed on the table to assist the two weyrlings. "We're going
to make firestone sacks, and while Echo and Halis are busy, let's talk about
what firestone is exactly. Anyone?" She looks expectantly around the room.

S'olan furrows his brow. He must be missing something, because the answer
can't just be... well, he'll venture it anyway. "It's the rock that dragons
chew to breathe fire. To sear Thread. Like we saw at Crom." His eyebrows
lift quizzically; is that it? "It... changes inside of them and makes hot
gas. Right?"

Halis finally does manage a salute, and manages to tie her boot. With a nod
she heads on over to cut the burlap, already hearing a little on firestone
from Betha before she left. She picks up a pair of sheers and gets to work.
Snip snip here snip snip there ...

Echo fetches the twine and begins circulating it without a squeak of
complaint. She overlooks one pair accidentally-on-purpose. Poor R'bit.

Leigha nods and smiles lopsidedly in approval at S'olan. "That's exactly
right. Firestone is a phosphine-bearing rock that releases the phosphine
when chewed by dragons, into their second stomachs, where the gas is stored
until ready to be exhaled. It ignites on contact with the air." She opens
the leather pouch and begins to hand out large needles to those who already
have their twine. "Can anyone tell me which dragons have second stomachs,
and which do not?"

Echo assumes to know, as she drifts back to standing next to Kezasuth, spare
twine deposited with Leigha. "All of them have two, don't they? I mean, the
queens can't /use/ their seconds, but they still have them. Right?"
Assumptions.

Halis blinks and looks over at Leigha, she starts to say something but shuts
up again when Echo ... well echo's her thoughts. She finishes cutting and
hands each 'ling some burlap before snipping some twine for herself. Then
back to line she goes.

Leigha considers Echo's statement, then shakes her head. "Actually, queens do
not have the second stomach that the other dragons do. Because of this, if a
queen were to chew firestone, she'd just regurgitate it back up, and the gas
wouldn't ignite because the second stomach wouldn't have released the
phosphine from the rock." Moving on, the weyrlingmaster picks up a bit of
twine and the burlap and holds it up. "Now then, what you are going to do is
make firestone sacks, then we are going to fill 'em up and try 'em out. You
just fold the cloth in half, sew it up the sides, and add a drawstring at the
top." She puts down the materials and picks up a completed sack. "Like
this."

D'ney shakes her head at the weyrling beside her, eyes wandering elsewhere.
"No," she murmurs at air, then shuffles a bit. Glug. "We have to sew,
again," is the resigned complaint, mixed with fingering of the twine and
burlap already entwined in long-fingered hands.

Halis realizes she didn't get a needle and clears her throat a bit before
quietly saying, "Excuse me, umm, I didn't get a needle ..."

Echo eyes the burlap dubiously. "What sort of thread are we using? Firestone's
awfully heavy."

S'olan winces slightly. More sewing. Like on his poor mangled candidate
robe. He turns it over, the look in his eyes the quasi-bewildered blinking
of a non-sewer, and then experimentally folds it as Leigha said, blinking at
it some more. Sew along the sides? Okay. Blink blink.

Leigha circulates amongst the weyrlings and hands Halis a needle. "There you
go, Halis, and yes, Echo, it is heavy-duty sinew that we're using," she says,
then peers at S'olan's blinking innocence. "Need help, S'olan?"

Halis plans on sewing her sack just like she sewed her robe, except without
the holes and cute belt. She sits down on the ground infront of Olexath who
watches her intently, hoping that what's comming next is what he hopes is
comming next. Halis eyes her sack as she goes, thinking that it's easier
than the belt she was making the other day. Oh yeah, she hasta finish that
still.

S'olan gives Leigha his best sheepish smile. "Uh, I think so. I haven't sewn
anything except my robe before, and that was a mess." He's got the thing
folded all right, but.... "Um... like this?" Having somehow managed to get
the needle threaded, S'olan clumsily passes it through the burlap in an
awkward and somewhat largeish stitch, and blushes.

Echo examines the sinew, and finds it satisfactory. Large, practical stitches
are started on the bag.

Leigha nods encouragingly at S'olan, a slight smile creasing her features.
"Just so, S'olan," she replies, pointing at the largish stitch. "In fact,
large stitches are just what is needed - look at what Echo is doing. That's
what I like to see." The weyrlingmaster passes on to where a furiously
tugging bluerider is mired down in twine and burlap.

D'ney isn't prone to blushing, but the sewing does invite her active doubt.
She squelches across her neighbour in order to better scrutinise S'olan's
stitch. "So that's the right one? What about drawstring?" She's asking
him, even. The unlucky neighbour decides to switch places.

S'olan glances at Leigha, and then down at his stitch again, and then back at
Leigha with an incredulous but pleased look on his face. I did it right by
accident? Wow. He turns his attention to Echo, and tries to mime her
stitching, running the big stitches up the sides.

Echo gets an admiring study of her stitchery from a neighbor, who looks
intently over her shoulder. She mutters something at him. Leigha's praise --
or whatever -- is appreciated, though. See? She's not a complete screw-up.
S'olan is given vague praise on his own. "That's pretty good."

Leigha grins at the industry in the room and walks back to the front of the
barracks. "Almost done? Remember, we still have to fill 'em. You may have
noticed the largish pile of firestone in the training grounds outside of the
barracks. Hold up your sack when you're done and I'll let you know if you're
ready to go outside." She is almost instantly rewarded with one or two
waving sacks, and the weyrlings in question are shooed outside. "Go fill 'em
up, and wait for me to come out there."

Halis is far from finished it would appear. Apparently her first few stitches
weren't large enough and she had to start anew. Now that she has a clue what
she's doing she moves along nicely. Now for the drawstring ... "What are we
to use for the drawstring?"

S'olan grins at Echo's faint praise, and then says to D'ney, "Uh, the
drawstring? I don't kow, maybe like this?" Fold the top over, stitch stitch
stitch. And in a hurry, too. Stitchstitchstitch. Ah. Big stitches go fast.

Leigha seems impressed by S'olan's rapid stitching and drawstring solution.
"Right, S'olan, that looks good. When you're ready, head on outside."

D'ney has started on her own sack. Really. The needle is jabbed all the way
in, and she's exerting additional force to make it come out on the other
side. Maybe the angle wasn't right-- "Oh," she nods with abrupt attention at
S'olan, and begins poking her needle at less awkward angles. Still, it's a
while before she finishes, and a few weyrlings file out in that interval.

Halis guesses that you're supposed to use the same twine that the sacks are
sewn together with. She follows S'olan's example since he seems to get what
he's doing. Once she's done flipping the top over and whatnot she threads
the twine through the little pouch created, declares it done and halfway
holds it up.

S'olan only gets what he's doing because at some point he figured out that
these sacks are much like potato sacks in the kitchen and, well, *them* he's
seen a whole freaking lot of. Hence the drawstring thing. He tugs a few
times on it to see if it'll hold, which it doesn't at first, so he goes over
some stitches again and frowns at it before following some others outside.

Echo finishes her bag, stands, dashes outside. Kezasuth tags along to watch.
Echo leads Kezasuth toward the Weyrling Grounds.
Echo skulks toward Weyrling Grounds.

S'olan lopes coltishly toward Weyrling Grounds.
Laenaoth waddles toward Weyrling Grounds.

Leigha blinks at Echo's hasty departure, steely eyes following her outside.
"Anyone else done?" she asks, deceptively mild tone in her voice. Someone is
cruisin'.

Leigha peers at D'ney's sack. "There you are, out you go. Halis, how're you
doing?"

Halis has been halfway holding up her sack for a while now after her question
about the drawstring was ignored and figured out on her own, "Well ... I
think I'm done?"

Leigha nods in agreement, motioning to the outside. "Head on out, I'll be
right there," says the weyrlingmaster, turning to help that helpless
bluerider with his own drawstring.

Halis walks toward Weyrling Grounds.

D'ney tests the drawstring. "Right," she nods, and exits with a backward
glance to Nhaeth. He's supposed to stay behind.

Weyrling Grounds

When in use by a class of Weyrlings, the Weyrlings' training ground area is
often busy with Weyrling pairs employed in practice drills or relaxing. The
air space overhead can be a danger zone to those not used to the antics that
young pairs tend to engage in, often seeming crowded as young dragonets test
their wings. The ground area seems spacious, never being quite as cramped as
the area overhead. Well-worn paths in the packed sand show the take-offs and
landings that many Turns have dug. The southeast section of the bowl is
northwest from here and in the southeastern direction is where the Weyrling
pairs call 'home'.

Perched somewhere up high, you see Satler.
Echo, S'olan, and Halis are here.
The following dragons are here: Muppeth, Sanath, Kezasuth, and Laenaoth
From here you can go:
Lake    Weyrling Barracks

Murath has arrived.

Leigha has arrived.

Olexath has arrived.

Leigha exits the barracks, angling her walk towards the heap of stone and the
weyrlings gathered there. "All right, sacks full? Get into pairs, each with
a sack," she directs, jostling a clipboard in her hands.

Murath rumbles a greeting to the weyrlings, especially the ladies, and settles
himself into a comfortable position to watch the proceedings.

S'olan has been followed by Lae, who hangs back a little so as not to get in
the way, and has filled up his sack quickly, jostling it a little to get the
rocks settled. Much like potatoes. Right? Right. Now pairs. "Echo?"
Let's ask his valiant sands-protector. "Have a partner yet?"

Echo brings her half of the partnership, and her sack -- oof! -- over to
S'olan. "I do now," she affirms. "What d'you think we're going to do now?"
It's too much to hope for flaming.

Halis eyes B'jork, the 'ling who gave her such a hard time the other night.
But lookie, D'ney doesn't have a partner. Halis sidles over next to D'ney
and asks, "Mind if we partner up?"

Leigha calls: "Once you're in pairs, get about a quarter dragonlength apart,
then throw and catch the sack - then back again. Once you've done that and
caught 'em, let's see you back up to a half dragonlength and so on."

Setebos wakes up from his nap.

D'ney, who was bringing up the rear, hastens to fill her sack, hefting the
chunks with singleminded energy. She waves one at the head poking out from
the barracks -- notably Nhaeth's -- then stuffs it in, joining the others.
She's about to ask a fellow brown 'ling when the guy gets a partner; Dallan
turns to Halis. Peers. "Not at all. How full is your sack?"

Halis nods at her sack which she's set on the ground, "Full enough? I dunno,
it's kinda heavy." Just about any large sack full of stones would be heavy
for this little 'ling though. She looks at D'ney's sack and then back at
hers, "Which should we use?"

Echo considers this activity with grim resignation. "Don't toss too hard,
Sol," she calls to her partner as she backs up. "At least not to start.
Otherwise we're both going to get pulled muscles up the wazoo."

S'olan backs up the requisite distance from Echo. "Oh, trust me, I won't," he
reassures her, looking a bit unsure. "Uh, ready?" He glances at Leigha, and
then back at Echo, and then swings the bag, sending it in a slightly lopsided
but mostly on-target arc toward Echo. "That okay?"

Ah, choices. D'ney tosses her sack slightly. "I think mine's lighter." Not
that it matters after a spate of tossing. She hefts it again, then steps
back to the instructed quarter-dragonlength. "Ready?" The sack whizzes over
with that. Fair warning, as D'ney sees it.

Leigha continues to watch, nodding absently as she makes notations on her hide
and board.

Echo catches, stepping back with the weight of the sack. Before she returns
the toss, she nods. "Just great." And then an only slightly-wobbling arc
toward S'olan. "Heads up!"

Leigha moves with military precision toward Weyrling Barracks.

Halis appears to pay attention again.

Murath dozes off...

Halis manages to catch the sack but ends up falling over with the suprise and
weight of the sack.

D'ney shouts belatedly: "Sorry." From the entrance of the barracks, the
distant shape that is Nhaeth hops forth, right wing held out for balance,
left wing drooping nearer to the ground than is necessary. Dallan eyes Halis
evenly, moving forward a step's space. "You okay?"

Echo goes home.

Eir has arrived.
Aidubaith has arrived.

Halis giggles a bit and nods as she shoves the sack off of her, "Yeah I think
so." Olexath strides over and nudges Halis, a small warble emitting from his
direction.

S'olan goes home.
Laenaoth waddles toward Weyrling Barracks.

Eir strolls over at Aidubaith's side, shoulders back - not slumping - for
once. In fact, his innate elegance seems to be rubbing off on his rider, the
girl looking faintly more feminine despite the shearing of hair. "'Lo there!"
she calls out towards her fellow weyrlings, waving a hand in greeting.

"It /is/ heavy," Dallan admits, standing still in front of the pair. Throwing
sacks at people within close range is not a good idea. "Can you get up? We
should practise some more." And maybe she nods at Eir, maybe the nod's for
Nhaeth the trundlebug, it's not very clear.

Halis gets up after shooing Olexath away, "Perhaps we should use a lighter
sack?" She spots Eir and waves at her as she dusts herself off, "Heyla Eir."

Eir blinsk faint lashes over her eyes as the comes to notice Halis on the
ground. "Didn't, uh, see you there, Halis," admits the brownrider. "You
alright?" SHe's standing up, so apparently she must be at some level of
functioning. "What're we practicing? Sack-throwing?" Aidubaith peers over her
shoulder, nostrils hovering at her ear. Hoo-haa.

Halis nods at Eir, "Just fine. Though I am a weakling apparently." She mock
flexes before giggling and picking up the sack, "Care to join in?" She's
ready to throw the sack just don't ask her to catch it again.

D'ney heaves on the sack Halis made, since hers is lying beside the girl. "We
have extra sacks," she offers to Eir, a small smile gracing her dark
features. "But they're of similar weights. --No, don't take the stone out.
I won't throw too hard this time." The last to Halis, as Dallan herself
returns to her former place.

"Uh, sure..." Eir volunteers unsteadily, but Aidubaith nudges her behind and
she trots into place. He's getting very good at being a father figure, odd as
he is. "Hit me?" comes her flippant command, hands splayed open in a general
sort of catching position.

Halis nods at D'ney's comment and tosses D'ney's sack at Eir, "Here ya go."
Hey they can get two sacks going at once, in a nice little triangle. She
turns towards D'ney, "Don't throw it so hard k?"

D'ney would obey Eir too, if she had a sack. As it is, she snorts gruffly and
watches Halis's throw, trotting forward after a moment to pick up the other
sack. "Here." And she passes it on, lightly.

Nhaeth has arrived.

Eir is more adept than she looks, all elbows and knees and chicken-limbs. The
sack's weight causes her wrist to wrench slightly, but a controlled
follow-through sends it on an arc up towards her other hand. Aidubaith would
clap, were he so equipped - as it is, her puffs out his chest proudly.
"That's not so hard," scoffs the weyrling, waiting for D'ney's attention
before sending her sack flying.

Halis raises a brow at Eir as she catches the largish sack thrown at her by
D'ney, "What do you mean easy?" She manages to stay upright this time
thankfully and she then turns towards Eir again, waiting for the 'ling to be
ready.

Halis appears to daze out a bit with all the excitement.

Kezasuth dozes off...

Eir goes home.

You click your heels three times.

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